The next day there was no word from the municipality. Truth is I felt even worse about the situation. These municipality people were just not getting it. The weekend was fast approaching and Haluk, son of Reis and I were planning go hear Perihan at the Elizi pavyon in Maltepe, but I was broke.

Unable to take it any longer, I called Selami. Though my tone was gentle at first it grew increasingly harsh:

“Buddy, send over my money. This is shameful. Don’t you people have any shame?” And spouting similar accusations, I flew on now at the top of my voice:

“Don’t send me forms and other boloney until you send my money. Only a coward would sign these now.” And then I hung up on him. As usual Selami was muttering something I couldn’t really understand, though I did get the sense that he was trying to throw the blame on the mayor.

A few days went by and not a peep out of the municipality when I left Mehmet the Kurd’s Merkez Restaurant, where I sometimes had lentil soup in the morning, and stormed over to the municipality.

In my turtleneck sweater, mustache and short black pea coat and the warm lentil soup in my belly, I felt a new confidence rising up in me.

I entered the accountant’s office on the second floor. Selami was sitting at the end of the room, peering painfully through the files set in front of him with a stupid look on his face while his assistant Gülnaz, sitting at a neighboring desk, was struggling to adjust the corner of the umpteenth piece of carbon paper into the mouth of the old typewriter. When she saw me, she smiled and perked up. In a slightly flirtatious tone of voice, she drew out her words:

“Good morning, doctor. Welcome.”

Pinching out a smile, I got straight to the point: